I debated whether or not to attend–was the effort of braving the elements worth keeping the streak alive. I’ve had the ticket stashed in my armoire for a month. Bright sun would have been a convenient excuse but just my luck–gloom and fog have shrouded the city since dawn.
Technology can do some amazing things. Kids point in awe to banners of heroes in the Great Hall as they turn from brilliant color to the black and white images of years past. I saw Gehrig and Ruth with my own eyes. Back then the grass was just as green, the sky a more vivid blue than anyone remembers and a three-tiered ballpark truly felt like a cathedral.
The field across the street is a lovely tribute but my heart aches for the old stadium–not the 1970’s refurbished version, though that had it’s moments too. I’m thinking of the original Yankee Stadium built in 1923 on the site of an old goat pasture. If one looks closely–squints in the rain–the building is still there, veiled in layers of grey, lights twinkling, ground shaking with the roar of the crowd.
Those limestone walls screamed and fought back when they were torn apart. Their wails still echo, trapped between the rocks of the bluff and swirling currents of the river. Torture for those cursed to hear them for eternity but precious history for the handful that still survive.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Ghosts and Legends…all eyes on the prize.